


someone on your side

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Concussions, F/M, Fights, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Protective Siblings, Racist Language, Siblings, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: W.D. has always lead the way, while Anne followed a few steps behind him. It's how they've grown up -- what they've always been. All her life, Anne has known that her brother will stand up and protect her.When W.D. gets hurt defending her, she realizes how much that really means.





	someone on your side

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt on tumblr (that i just got last night... i was inspired): "maybe a story where W.D. gets badly injured during a fight, or during a practice, and is unconscious in bed and Anne won’t leave his side, so Phillip’s looking after her to make sure she’s eating and sleeping properly and stuff? I’ve seen a lot of whump fic in this fandom, but never with W.D. as the injured one"
> 
> and... look... i'm always a slut for h/c, so you win, anon.

_When they were children, W.D. lead the way, and Anne always followed a few steps behind._

_It was easier that way. Growing up in a predominately white city, working for white folk, understanding the sting of poisonous stares and vile words… Anne needed the protection that her older brother provided. To her, her brother was a colossus. They didn’t have their father anymore, but W.D. was four years older, strong as a grown man, and smarter than anybody Anne knew. In her eyes, W.D. was the model of what any older brother should be._

_(Not that all older brothers were like W.D, of course. He was the best — all the other older brothers were just trying to compare with him, and failing.)_

_Sure, he got on her nerves sometimes. He threw cherry pits at her and pulled her braids, kicked her underneath the dinner table, and tattled to Mamma whenever she did something she wasn’t supposed to… but Anne always knew that when she needed her brother, he’d be there._

_She still remembers one of the most frightening moments of her life: they were walking back from the shops, side by side. Anne had a bundle of fabric in her arms (Mamma planned to make her a new dress) while W.D. balanced paper bags full of groceries in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than eight at the time; she remembers the heat of the day beating down on her bare head, and the way sweat glistened against W.D.’s skin._

_They were halfway back home when a jeering voice called out to them from the road._

“Hey! Girl!”

Anne stiffens involuntarily, feeling the leer trained on her back. Her brother’s arm finds a hold on her arm; he is not forceful, but firm, coaxing her down the road when her instincts tell her to stop and face their accoster. She can’t see his face, but she hears the terseness in W.D’s voice when he says, “Keep moving!”

_“Where do you two think you’re going?” a voice demanded; then it used a word that Anne hates to remember, even today._

_They were young then; not young enough that they shouldn’t have known better, but they were children, and children are reckless. Especially young children on hot days with nothing to lose — they think they can take on the world._

_W.D. spun around, already squared up; he turned to face the group of white boys standing on the other side of the road, hearing at them. One was staring directly at Anne, his weasley face twisted into a grin that send goosebumps up her arms. When the leader of the boys moved forward, W.D. raised an arm to keep Anne back._

_“I said,” the white boy said, “where do you think —“_

“— you’re going, beauty? Come on, gimme a smile. A kiss. I know you want to, darling, give me a bit of that sugarcane…”

Every word lands against Anne’s skin like hot oil, greasy and burning. She flinches as the descriptors get more lewd, but her brother continues to lead her along, and she does not stop. She won’t stop, as long as W.D. is here. She trusts him.

Then, the final straw. “You black woman are all so hot all the time, I bet you’re just dying for what I’ve got —“

W.D. jerks to a stop, and Anne just has time to think _oh no_ before everything goes to hell.

_“What did you just say to my sister?” W.D. demanded. Even facing down a horse of white boys — a few of them even bigger than him — he wasn’t afraid. Anne had never admired her brother more than in that moment… or been more frightened for him._

_“I said,” the boy retorted, then spat at W.D’s feet. “Where do you spooks think you’re going?”_

_W.D’s hands clenched into fists. He lowered his head, like a bull ready to charge, and moved further in front of his sister. “We’re going home.”_

_“No home for you down here. Why don’t you get back to your plantation? Go back down South, somebody’s probably_ looking _for you down there.”_

_“W.D,” Anne said in a thin, frightened voice. “I wanna go.”_

_“You can’t talk to us like that,” W.D. retorted in a low voice. “Didn’t your Mamma ever teach you manners?”_

_The boy grinned, wicked and sickening. “No,” he answered. “But he taught me how to wring scrawny black necks when they think they can talk back to me!”_

Anne lets out a shriek. The books under her arm hit the pavement in a heap as she reels around, stumbling out of the way of a flying fist. Just like that, her brother is on their harasser, not even giving the man a change to catch his breath. The fight is short and brutal. The drunk that’s been following them for the past few months bowls over like a rag doll, and W.D. stands upright again, victorious.

The sounds of the brawl are still ringing in her ears, no matter how short it was. Anne’s heart is pounding hard. She can only stare at W.D, not quite sure what to say, as her brother brushes himself off.

_He looked up at her and grinned. Despite the fact that he lost against the horde, the fact that he was now sporting a black eye, a missing tooth, and more bruises than either of them could count, W.D. grinned at her, because he knew he won something for good._

_“You see, Annie?” he said. “I’ll —“_

“—- always protect you.”

W.D. has just pulled himself to his feet, and he’s grinning at Anne like he’s just won the Kentucky Derby. He takes one step forward, stops, and bends down to pick up the books Anne dropped.

He’s only managed to straighten up again when there is an awful, resounding crash.

Shattered glass falls to the pavement. The remnants of an old whiskey bottle rain down around him. W.D. goes still. For an agonizing moment, he is frozen. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens in wordless surprise. Anne sees the drunk behind him stagger, stumble backwards, and start running away.

She lunges for her brother just as he starts to crumple. He falls straight into her arms.

“W.D! Dammit, my god, are you okay?”

Anne’s hand searches the back of her brother’s head, feeling through his thick hair as he makes a noise of protest. When she hits upon something wet, her breath freezes in her throat. Her fingers come away crimson.

“Jesus,” W.D. moans against her shoulder. “Did I get hit by a train?”

“No,” she says through gritted teeth, forcing back the panic that threatens to overwhelm her. “A bastard.”

“Oh, my _head…”_ W.D. crumpled in on himself, wincing, and buried his face in Anne’s shoulder. The light is too much for him. A steady trail of blood is trickling down behind his ear, running into his neck and shirt collar. When Anne tries to adjust his weight, he only slinks more heavily into her, as if he can’t hold himself up.

She curses as she adjusts her brother in her arms. Not for the first time, she wishes her family weren’t all so tall — or that she were the older sibling, instead of the younger one. Anything to make W.D. smaller, more easy to carry in her arms.

(Anything that might mean a bottle didn’t just crown him over the head, and that her brother really isn’t bleeding in front of her right now.)

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” she hisses, when W.D. mumbles something like that in her ear. “You ain’t allowed, you hear me? Get up.”

He doesn’t move. She stomps hard on her foot, digging her heel into his big toe, until he springs up with a yell. It’s enough for her.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back home. You need a doctor.”

“No doctor, ‘m fine —“ He starts to protest, but another light kick to the leg shuts him up. Anne is already moving, dragging him along down the street. His legs are following after her, and that’s all she can ask for.

It is another long four blocks back to the circus, but her brother is by her side the whole way. As far as Anne’s concerned, that’s a victory.

They make it three steps through the circus doorway before W.D. slides off her shoulders, stumbles, and passes out cold. 

* * *

 

W.D. wakes up three times in the next six hours. Twice, it’s to empty his stomach in the bin near his bed, and immediately fall back asleep again. Once, it’s to moan a lot, and not really know where he is; but it’s better than puking or comatose, so Anne will take it.

(He doesn’t wake up while the doctor is stitching up his head. Anne is a little impressed. And her brother says _she’s_ the one who could sleep through an earthquake.)

“Don’t feel got, Annie,” he says, for the fourth time in ten minutes. His hand strays up towards his bandaged head; quick as a flash, Anne slaps it down again. Her stern looks have never had much effect on her brother, but she tries her best anyway. Even concussed, W.D. isn’t impressed.

“I know you’re worried,” he grumbles, “but you don’t gotta hover over everything I do.”

“What day of the week is it?” Anne asks. Her brother stares at her blankly. She rolls her eyes, tipping her head back towards the ceiling, and lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re right, no worry requires. Don’t be stupid, W.D.”

He winces, even though she’s taking care to keep her voice low. “Thought you said I was already stupid?”

“That’s right, you are. How the hell do you go and get your head split open like an egg? You’re not just stupid, you’re a damn idiot, and you’re lucky you didn’t get something worse.”

Any other day, W.D. wouldn’t be cowed by anything Anne’s got to scold him with; she could do her worst, and it wouldn’t impress W.D. at all. Any other day, her brother isn’t laid up in bed with an achy, muddled head, and six stitches in his scalp.

He wilts back into his pillows, shrinking beneath the blankets. It’s such an uncharacteristic thing to do that it sweeps Anne completely off her feet. Her brother is like a kid getting told off by his mother; the flash of guilt that crosses his face is unmistakable, rivaled only by disappointment.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. There’s still a little slur to his voice, but it’s not as bad now as it was ten minutes ago. “I was just… trying to protect you. That’s all I wanted. Sorry, Annie.”

Something sour and sharply guilty curdles inside of Anne’s stomach — but before she can open her mouth to apologize, W.D.’s eyes are closed, and he’s slipped back into sleep again.

Needless to say, she _can’t_ leave his side after that.

If she’s fussing over her brother, naturally Phillip is going to fuss over her. Every few moments, he slips in and out of the room; one minute bearing a blanket, the next a pillow for her back (she gives it to W.D.) Anne herself is not in any danger. Phillip knows it. He worries about her because of how much he cares.

(This is still mind-boggling to her sometimes, in quiet, thoughtful moments.)

After a few hours of her vigil, however, she can sense him growing more concerned. Phillip’s got a particular brand of restlessness where he ceases to fit into his own skin. Anne’s learned to recognize is, because she’s always been kind of the same way.

“Please come with me for a few minutes,” he begs in the sixth hour of her vigil. “Get something to eat. Lie down for a few minutes. You need your rest too, Anne.”

She knows it’s late; she also knows that the rest of the troupe is worried. Phillip isn’t just speaking for himself — but he is speaking for himself most of all. She can see how he longs to move close, to wrap his arms around her and shelter her from the world. This is not comfort that will help her now, though, so he does not offer it.

“I’ll rest when he’s awake for good,” she promises. “I’ll rest when he’s better.”

Phillip says nothing; Anne knows she’s given him the answer he expected. After a few seconds, he moves deeper into the room, footsteps echoing against the wooden floor. Anne holds her breath until she hears him draw up a chair by her side.

Slowly, he lowers himself down and looks at her. “Is this okay?”

Anne smiles — and inexplicably feels a lump rise in her throat. She isn’t prepared for it, so she can’t help the way her lip wavers when she looks at him. “Yeah,” she confirms. “That’s okay.”

She stays by her brother’s side for three days and three nights. Phillip is a constant comfort by her side.

* * *

 

On the fourth morning, Anne is drawn out of her exhausted sleep by the sound of low voices conversing beside her.

She stirs, and brings a hand up to rub her eyes. She winds up smacking herself in the face.

Her started grunt is cut off by the sound of rich laughter. She knows in an instant who it is; her eyes spring open, suddenly wide awake, and she cannot keep the relieved smile off of her face.

“W.D!” she exclaims, and throws herself forward. She’s able to stop just before her arms can wrap around her brother’s shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

He certainly looks better. Her brother is sitting up straight, propped by pillows, and his eyes are clear. There’s no trace of discomfort on his face. His smile is warm.

“A lot better,” he assures her, and squeezes her hand. Anne sees no other reason to restrain herself. She grabs her brother up in a fierce hug, and doesn’t let go until he shoves her gently away. “Easy, easy. I’ve gotta breathe.”

Anne spins towards Phillip — who is, as ever, sitting on the other side of W.D.’s bed. Her grin is returned, as wide and bright as ever. She had no doubt that Phillip would wait with her, but to stay for W.D. as well…

He didn’t need to, but he did. If she ever had any doubts about Phillip Carlyle’s character, they’ve been permanently abolished.

“Phil’s just been keeping me company until you quit snoring,” W.D. says. Anne reaches over, and slips her hand in Phillip’s own.

“It was, it was no trouble — you’d have done the same for me, right?”

“Of course,” Anne answers automatically, at the same time W.D. replies, “I sure would.”

She exchanges a glance with her brother, then takes his hand as well. When W.D. squeezes her fingers, she’s confident that her big brother is going to be alright.

Her two favorite people in the world are both here, both healthy, and they all get to be together. That’s everything Anne could ask for.


End file.
